(2) The Fifth Sense
by Bryn Gwyrdd
Summary: Lee and Amanda have very different feelings about how they like to be touched. Part 2 of 3 in the "Senses" trilogy
1. Lee

Lee looked up from his desk to find Amanda standing in front of him, and looking not nervous exactly, but more like she had to start a conversation she would rather avoid. He leaned back in his chair, twirling his pen between his fingers and sighed. "Yes, Amanda? Is there something I can help you with?"

His tone of resignation seemed to make her more nervous and she stood there silently for a moment, observing him and absentmindedly running the envelope in her hands between her fingers. "No, never mind," she said finally starting to turn away. "It was a silly idea."

Seeing the flush rising on her neck as she started to walk away, he suddenly felt ashamed that he'd upset her. He scrambled to his feet and followed her across the bullpen, taking her arm and beginning to apologize. "Amanda, I'm sorry, what did you need to ask me? What's wrong?"

"Oh, there's nothing wrong, Lee, it's just that I have this," she waved the envelope towards him and went on. "And I don't know even know why I thought of it, but you were so nice after that whole Alan Squires thing and I know that dinner was supposed to be an apology, kind of, but you didn't get to enjoy it with your swollen jaw and I got this from Dean for Christmas and it's not the kind of thing I enjoy and it would really make me feel funny to use it now, when we're not even dating anymore, but on the other hand I don't want it to go to waste, so I thought maybe you'd like it because you seem to like that kind of thing, you know not in a weird way but there was that time you mentioned that thing with the Jacuzzi and the eucalyptus steam, and since I don't want it, I thought maybe you would."

It worried him slightly that he'd been able to follow almost everything she'd said, but he was still confused about what exactly she was talking about. "Okaaay, and what is _that_, exactly?" he drawled, gesturing towards the envelope that she was still waving nervously.

"Oh!" she glanced down at it and then looked back at him with a hesitant look. "It's a gift certificate for the spa at the Franklin Hotel, for a massage or a facial or stuff like that." Her slight smile faltered a bit at the confused look on his face. "Never mind, I knew it was silly – you're not going to want it. I just thought… never mind." She went to leave again before he put a hand out to stop her.

"No, it's not silly, you know I treat myself to that sort of thing regularly, but I don't understand why you don't want to use it. What do you mean it's the kind of thing you don't enjoy? What's not to like about enjoying a bit of pampering?"

Amanda shrugged, obviously still embarrassed that she'd even offered it to him. "I don't know, I tried one once just after Joe and I split up and I didn't like it. It was weird."

He couldn't help starting to laugh. "Weird?" he prodded.

"Weird to have people touching me. I know it was supposed to be soothing but I just couldn't relax."

His confusion was not lessening. "Amanda, you are one of the touchy-feely people I know, how can you not like being touched?"

"Well, I do like being touched, of course I do, but it's different when it's a stranger. I mean, I like it when it's from family or people I'm close to-." She stopped suddenly, blushing harder than ever before plunging on. "Look do you want it? Because I can see if Francine wants it, if you don't."

"No, no, I'll take it if you're really not going to – they have a great mud wrap there and it would probably really help with the scar from that punch Squires gave me." He suddenly noticed the way she had her lips pressed together as if she was trying not to laugh and found himself grinning back at her. "Hey Toots, don't knock it until you've tried it."

"I'll take your word for it. I get enough mud on me teaching the Little Leaguers how to do a hook slide." She ducked her head again, then looked up with a smile, holding out the envelope. "Here you go then. I hope you enjoy it."

It wasn't until she'd walked away that he opened the envelope and been stunned to realize it was a gift certificate for a full day with everything included – it had to be worth $200. "Amanda!" he called after her, "Are you sure about this?"

"Absolutely! Enjoy!" she waved from the bullpen doors.

Which is how Lee found himself on a massage table in one of the swankiest spas in D.C., reflecting on the mystery of Amanda King, and still trying to puzzle out why she wouldn't enjoy something like this. He'd first discovered the joys of a good spa day when his uncle had been posted briefly to Ramstein Air Force Base in Germany and the boys in his junior high had dragged him off for a day trip to the thermal springs. He'd realized immediately they were trying to freak out the American kid with the almost complete nudity of everyone there, but he had been persuaded by one of the other boys to go for a massage and he'd never looked back. It had been a revelation to him; at the age of fourteen, the last time anyone had touched him – with the exception of the occasional football tackle - had been before his parents died. His uncle was not one for any form of physical affection beyond the occasional hair ruffling, and Lee hadn't realized he'd been missing it until halfway through that massage. It was completely unemotional physical contact and Lee was self-aware enough to know right from the start that's what he liked about it. He'd learned to keep himself aloof since childhood – no point in making friends anywhere, no point in trying to develop a relationship with a girl beyond a few dates – he'd be moving on soon enough. Massages became his guilty pleasure; he enjoyed them and he enjoyed the edge it gave him with dates when they discovered his "magic fingers" as he plied them with the tricks he'd learned over twenty years of indulging.

He really would have thought Amanda would enjoy stuff like this though – she was certainly quick to dole out physical affection. How many times had he watched her hugging her kids goodbye on their way to school, to bed, to anywhere? Her sons couldn't move past her in a room without some form of caress, whether it was a hug or a kiss on the top of the head or just a smile.

And she had no trouble getting into people's personal space – he knew that from personal experience from the number of times she'd mothered _him_ in their short acquaintance. For heaven's sake, she'd mothered him through two gunshot wounds and a stabbing in just the last five months – that had been an unforeseen side of their partnership. _Not partnership_, he corrected himself. She was _not _his partner, no matter how many times Billy stuck him with her. Even as that thought went across his mind, he regretted it. It wasn't fair to still think of her as someone he was stuck with. She'd proved to be his most loyal friend – her faith in him seemingly unshakeable and he couldn't fault her bravery, even if she was sometimes still annoyingly naïve. She was so open with her emotions, willing to see the best in everyone often mistakenly – just look at how easily Alan Squires had conned her.

And yet, it wasn't a part of her he'd want her to lose – he'd been on the receiving end of so many hugs from her, because at moments of emotion, her instinct - unlike his – was to express it physically. If she didn't like being touched, why had she been so quick to embrace him that night after his "funeral"? The more he thought of it, the less likely it seemed that she could have been telling him the truth; she'd said that it was weird to be touched by strangers, but when she'd had amnesia, she'd willingly accepted comfort from him and he'd been like a stranger to her then, hadn't he?

He shifted uncomfortably on the table, not liking that particular memory – that moment she'd looked at him from that hospital bed with absolutely no sign of recognition and more than a little fear.

"You know, this is supposed to be relaxing, Mr. Stetson," said the masseur, pausing for a moment. "But whatever's on your mind is tensing you up faster than I can get these knots out."

"Sorry," Lee muttered over his shoulder. "Just thinking about work."

"Maybe you should think about something you enjoy instead," smirked the masseur.

"Yeah, maybe," agreed Lee, trying to relax again. _I should get her a little something as a thank-you. Maybe flowers or a nice bracelet or…No, how would she explain them to her mother? I bet she had a hell of a time explaining that stupid concubine ring… I can't believe that bast-_

"Mr. Stetson!" said the masseur, throwing up his hands in frustration.

"Sorry," said Lee. "I'll try and think about something else." _Something that isn't Amanda King._

He began to recite his mantra to try and get out of his own head and slowly relaxed into the massage again. _Ah, this is heaven._


	2. Amanda

_This is hell._

Amanda was staring up at the ceiling of the spa at one of the state's most luxurious hotels and she was hating every minute of it. She'd winced when she heard Valerie book a 45-minute massage, knowing that the only way to keep an eye on her was to do the same. Lee would expect it of her. Lee would probably tell her it was one of the perks of the job and she should just lie back and enjoy it. Francine would have been all over this, gleefully racking up spa treatments, purring under the masseuse's expertise like a kitten, but in a sad twist of fate, both she and Francine were equally miserable – Francine at home recovering from a root canal and Amanda on a massage table, being touched by strangers.

In her head, she knew this was supposed to be relaxing, but it never was. It always felt clinical to her, knowing that to the masseuse, she was simply a slab of meat with knots of muscles and nerves, a series of problems to be solved, not a person. Okay, she acknowledged silently, maybe that was a stretch since the woman had seemed quite friendly really, greeting her with a warm smile and asking her if she was comfortable, murmuring a quiet narration of instructions, most of which seemed to be _Relax, Mrs. Stetson. _And heaven knew she wanted to relax - she was exhausted from being on alert the whole time with a cover to remember, and then a restless night waiting for Lee to come back to the room. Even when she had fallen asleep, it had been uneasy, filled with dreams and she'd woken not feeling any better. And now, between trying to listen to Valerie beside her and recalling the not-quite-an-argument last night, her mind simply wouldn't cease its relentless buzzing.

She knew Lee was angry with her. Again.

Okay, so maybe he wasn't angry, but he was definitely exasperated. She knew all the signs for that by now, because no matter what she did, it seemed like she always ended up provoking him. Last night, instead of counting sheep, she had begun making a mental list of "Signs Lee is Not Happy With Me" in her head.

_1\. One raised eyebrow._

_2\. The head tilt._

_3\. That teeth grindy thing where you can see his cheek muscle ticking._

_4\. He's yelling._

_5\. He's quiet._

_6\. You can tell he wants to yell but he's pressing lips together so he doesn't say something._

_7\. He says it anyway._

_8\. He's pacing._

_9\. He's using my whole name._

_10\. He leaves._

She opened her eyes to stare at the spa ceiling and sighed again. Like he'd left last night, in a snit to go sit in a closet on a stakeout. She really hadn't meant to make him mad, it was just that he'd been so… Lee. And it wasn't his fault that she'd been on edge for a few weeks around him. In some ways, you could almost say it was her mother's fault.

"_A man does not respect a woman that he can call on a whim! You are seeing a man, aren't you? These burning passions, midnight assignations, they don't work!"_

No matter how much she'd tried to persuade her mother that her disappearance that night was a simple appointment, the maternal nagging had continued.

"_I mean, maybe you're entitled to a meaningless affair. Something passionate and fiery, with no future!"_

Amanda sighed again and this time the masseuse sighed along with her.

"Let's get you rolled over, Mrs. Stetson, and work on those shoulders. You seem to be carrying a lot of stress today."

She lifted the sheet and Amanda rolled onto her stomach.

_Mrs. Stetson, now that's a laugh. Talk about a relationship with no future._

Maybe that really was what was bothering her – the way Lee had sprung that pertinent little fact on her at the last moment. Eight months of we-are-nots – we are not partners, we are not coworkers, we are definitely not involved – and then the next thing she knew, he was sliding a ring on her finger, leading her into a room with one bed and parading her in front of the entire hotel as his newlywed wife.

Oh no, that's right. The newlywed thing was _her_ fault. He could have come up with a number but apparently it's not the man's job to come up with a number, she was just supposed to magically know that, even though he never gave her any hint about what it was he expected of her – he only ever complained after the fact.

_You didn't say anything about how she looked like Francine did you?_

_You want to go out with David Benson, you be my guest!_

_A guy in a nice car gives you a ring and a great line and you go for it! Just terrific!_

_Oh, Amanda!_

Underneath the sheet, her fingers curled into claws. Right from the start that last phrase had gotten under her skin, always delivered in that condescending tone like he was a disappointed parent and she was a recalcitrant child.

"Relax, Mrs. Stetson," murmured the masseuse.

Her mother hadn't been wrong, whatever relationship she had with Lee, she couldn't deny that "No Future" might be the perfect description for it. But her mother's nagging that night had gotten under her skin for some reason; maybe it was knowing that Lee didn't even trust her to make a simple drop, but she'd found herself filling the silence in the car with a rambling description of her mother's suspicions. Looking back, she wasn't sure what had possessed her to tell him, but what she hadn't expected was that instantaneous scoffing from him.

"_Your mother should know you better than that._"

It shouldn't have been hurtful but it was. She forgot sometimes, maybe because he occasionally defended her from Francine's snarky remarks, that he thought of her the same way – a kind of amorphous blob of suburbia that he had to brush up against from time to time, against his will. But sometimes, just sometimes, it was like he forgot all those we-are-nots, sometimes it was like he forgot they were not friends.

She stopped to consider that. No, she decided, that wasn't true. They _were_ friends. Lee might have a lot of trouble admitting that she was helpful to him, but she doubted he'd deny that they were at least friends now. After all, look at the way he'd taken such care of her that time she'd had amnesia. He'd been solicitous in ways that he wasn't normally – obviously straining to remain calm and non-threatening, trying so hard to convince her that she could trust him and it hadn't been just because she might have a clue to who had the code – no, he'd seemed genuinely upset that she couldn't remember him.

And he had shown that he trusted her from time to time. True, it was usually when he was in a bind like this weekend, but look at that whole thing with Magda – he'd seen her house as a safe place to bring that horrible woman, as someone he trusted, as someone who wouldn't let him down. And he'd seemed almost insulted when she'd suggested that he'd come back for her as an afterthought after rescuing Magda and Francine. There's been a flare of hurt in his eyes that she could even have voiced that.

He seemed to expect her to think he cared about her – like a friend does - but when it was quieter, when he had time to think, he still said things so automatically that she knew it must be what he really thought of her. Look at the way he hadn't even paused before those damning words: _Your mother should know you better than that_ … _You're not that type._

It literally hadn't crossed his mind that she could have a secret romantic life. Lee, of all people - the only witness to the fact that she was leading a completely crazy secret double life, the man who hid in her bushes and tapped on her window late at night - that man thought she wasn't that type.

Then, just as she was trying to process that hurtful comment and refute it – that man had pulled her into his arms and said "This looks much more natural" as if she was exactly the type of woman who would be making out in the front seat of a station wagon on the street in the dead of night. Okay, 9 o'clock at night, but that just proved her point, didn't it? 9 o'clock when anyone could have walked by and seen them?

And the thing was, it _had_ felt natural. There was some kind of undefinable rightness to the way he'd wrapped an arm around her comfortably, the way his scent tickled its way into her nose – and the way her hand had crept up to cup his cheek with a mind of its own. She'd felt him lean into that touch for a moment, a silent acknowledgement that he felt it too. Or at least she'd thought so, until he'd vehemently shoved her away the second the patrol car had passed.

So maybe that had been playing on her mind more than she'd care to admit this weekend, the way Lee could be so thoughtful and then so thoughtless a blink of an eye later. He knew this kind of thing bothered her, but even though he kept reminding her that she wasn't a trained agent, or indeed any kind of agent, he kept expecting her to act like one when it suited him.

Maybe Francine would have enjoyed spending the weekend being paid to flirt with Lee, but this whole thing just rubbed her the wrong way. She was having a hard enough time concentrating on what she was supposed to be doing and remembering who she was supposed to be without all the _touching_.

Now normally, touching didn't bother her. It didn't bother her when Lee absentmindedly guided her out of a room or when he led when they were dancing or the times he'd wrapped an arm around her as comfort when she was upset but this whole weekend? It was too much sensory overload. Lee wouldn't stop touching her – and it had been bad enough when they'd just arrived and it had been an arm around her but during dinner, he'd ratcheted it up, holding her hand, kissing her fingers, looking to all the world like a man who was madly in love with his wife. But she knew better.

She'd seen the way he'd done that all by rote, his gaze firmly fixed just past her head on the couples nearby as he ran the numbers in his head and even that hadn't bothered her. No, what had gotten to her were those moments when he'd stopped being an agent for a moment and returned his attention to her, and in those moments, he'd known exactly what he was doing. He was too good an agent not to know that she was uncomfortable with the fake physical affection; he would have been able to read it in her forced smiles and the stiffness of her body and after all the time they'd spent together, she was pretty good at reading him too. She'd been able to read the glint of amusement in his eyes when his caresses had turned from playing a cover to provoking her. The way his fingers had tightened on hers to keep her from pulling away, the way he'd hooked his foot around her chair to keep her from moving away – it all looked like affection from afar but the way he'd dropped the act the moment they left the dining room? She'd never felt more like she was nothing more to him than a prop than that moment he'd hauled her into a stiff embrace in the corridor outside their room, simply because someone had been walking the other way, only to drop her like a hot potato the instant they passed.

It had been an evening of such jumbled nerves, the real compliments, the fake endearments, the overacted physicality, the absent-minded caresses – all of it had built up inside her like a static charge until that fateful moment in the room he'd taken her hands and she'd literally slapped him down. His look of surprised hurt hadn't been enough to calm her down – every nerve had been jangling and although she had made an effort to make amends, his instant air of grievance had made that impossible. Her feelings had been hurt from his teasing, his feelings were hurt because she'd let that show. If there was ever a moment that said they could never be involved, that was it.

"You know, this is supposed to be relaxing, Mrs. Stetson," said the masseuse, pausing for a moment. "But whatever's on your mind is tensing you up faster than I can get these knots out."

"Sorry," Amanda muttered over her shoulder. "Just thinking about work."

"Maybe you should think about something you enjoy instead," smirked the masseuse.

"Yeah, maybe," agreed Amanda. _I'd really enjoy not being on this table._

And just like that, in answer to her prayers, Valerie began to snap at the girl working on her.

"Careful! I'm not strudel dough! That's enough. If there's even the slightest bruise, I'll notify the management!"

A few minutes later, she followed Valerie out of the room, relieved to be free of the masseuse's touch, and happy to have something else to think about than her "husband".


End file.
